


Disintegration

by its_pronounced_wiener_slave



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Bondage, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, LANGUAGE!!!, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Pet Play, Post-Canon, Sex Toys, dom Noctis, sub Ignis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-01-31 08:39:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12678357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_pronounced_wiener_slave/pseuds/its_pronounced_wiener_slave
Summary: He lifts his head precipitously, smiling at the tinkling of chain on the King’s mantle.“Welcome home, Your Majesty.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a version of a thing I've always wanted to write. love to all my dom Nocts out there.

_I’ll be late,_ he says through the receiver, as he’s said nearly every Friday evening since governance wriggled its way to the fore of their lives together.

 _Don’t wait on me,_ he adds, the meaning of which was always precisely the opposite.

The waiting makes no matter to Ignis, ultimately. Quite the contrary, it is part of the entire routine. Conventional, one might even call it.

When the sun has finally set, mournfully giving way to all the twinkling lights and bustling noise of the new Lucian jewel, Ignis at last draws himself a steaming hot bath. He languishes for a predetermined period of time, using his favorite and most lavish soaps and shampoos and the bath salts that make his skin softest to the touch. Wrapping his hair neatly in a towel, he emerges to drain the bath, dry his body thoroughly, slip a black silk robe over his shoulders. The King has seen fit to gift him with many, but this is the most impressive of which, having embroidery at the back to mimic the design of the coats donned by Kingsglaive.

The bed remains neatly made, a single lamp alight at the bedside table more out of consideration for his partner than himself. He glides effortlessly to a particular chest of drawers not far from the windows, hair pushed back from his face and hanging damp now that the towel is abandoned. Atop sits an elegant glass vial of cologne, Noct’s favorite scent, gifted to Ignis the day he finally decided to succumb to all the begging and move into his quarters. The bath is known to be a reserved safe haven for all things favored by Ignis, but this he applies to his neck just behind the jawline solely for Noctis’ benefit.

Turning, he pauses, one slender index finger extending to tap his temple as he tucks the other arm beneath his elbow, thinking; deciding in what order to complete the next set of tasks. Exhaling, he strides to the nightstand, robe dramatically aflutter with the speed and grace of his gait. The top drawer he opens, only a vague sense of how the piece looks, though it feels rich to the touch, adorned with heavy hardware the likes of which Noctis chose of his own accord. Noctis actually chose quite a bit regarding their bedroom décor, including the black satin sheets that Ignis protested over, citing them as pedestrian and garish all at once. However, Noctis moped and Ignis conceded, and it will likely be a cold day in Hell when Ignis admits he quite likes the way they feel against his skin, particularly when the sun beats too hot through their evening facing windows.

With little more than muscle memory he finds what he’s searching for, laying each piece neatly on his husband’s garish sheets with an almost saintly smile. The first is hidden in a black velvet bag with heavy, woven drawstrings in gold; a custom silver plug in an almost perfect shape of a spade. It isn’t fussy or busy or difficult to keep clean and Ignis likes it that way. The second object is a long flask of lubricant which he frets over momentarily by hand in order to be sure it hadn’t leaked, before depositing it alongside the velvet pouch.

Before moving on, he thinks it best to put on a long beloved piece that helps him focus in times such as these, when he’s meant to do one thing though told to prioritize another. It is a peculiar dance between he and the King, both of them aware of the pageantry inherent in their silently agreed upon play, ostentatious in its austerity but no less sincere. Each cog fits in its place at its precise time, at the end of the week, when the councilmen and the representatives and the staffers have taxed the King to the point of exasperation and tardiness, and his adviser simply _must_ be informed.

Ignis’ favorite collar sits in the top drawer of that same _particular_ chest near the tall windows. Like so many of his other trinkets and toys, it is black embossed leather, bearing the Lucian family crest to brand the wearer to his place of origin. Ignis has loved it since the day Noctis brought it home, fingertips playing at the etched hide the moment it was wrapped round his neck and fastened snug. The scent of it will always remind him of his chosen Master, as it does even now when it hangs a bit loose near his collarbones, the D ring cold against his skin.

As he slides the drawer shut, he slows half way, wondering if he should stop at merely the collar alone. His matching leash hangs authoritatively at Noct’s bedpost, a solid gold chain with a strong leather strap; the fastening of which is privilege to the King alone. His various gags, however, he affectionately runs a hand over, ruminating on whether or not he should wear one preemptively tonight. The bit he hovers over, considering it because he’s fond of the little gold clamps dangling from delicate chains attached to the rings on either side of the jaw. However, the bit comes with the reduced likelihood that Noctis will indulge his desire for oral gratification, a thought which makes Ignis frown, and then chastise himself for attempting to predict His Majesty’s many whims.

Moving onto the spider gag, a favorite, he lifts it in his hands, recalling the way the metal feels against his tongue and the back of his teeth. Intoxicating, the memory of it compared to the bit, since he feels that much more vulnerable with nothing to obstruct the King’s entry or the sound of his own escaping mewls. Indecision remains a hardened foe.

 _Perhaps he’ll decide,_ Ignis concedes, shutting the drawer finally.

Seated on the bed, he slinks from the robe one shoulder at a time before putting it neatly out of reach. The sheets are customarily cool against his naked flesh as he lifts the velvet pouch and carefully pulls the toy from within. He holds it in his hands for a moment, enjoying its weight as the sound of Noct’s voice comes to mind, as if knowing the next few moments would be his to usher. Gingerly, he sets it down on the velvet, instead taking up the vial of lubricant and wetting the length of his middle and ring fingers with it. Laying it on the velvet as well, he shifts further onto the bed, _Noct’s_ side of the bed, leaning onto his elbow as he bends a knee, reaching tentatively behind the subtle curve of his ass.

His body heat has warmed the fluid by the time he prods himself open with a steady fingertip, his head dropping to his shoulder as he tries to summon up the sound of the King’s voice again. The kneading is a little bit clinical, purposeful, not solely meant for pleasure, although arousal never hinders progress by any means. Just as he carefully begins to pull and encourage stretch, he sinks his face into Noct’s pillow, surrounded at once by the scent of him, his words suddenly ringing out as clear as the last blue sky Ignis ever laid eyes upon.

He doesn’t want to overdo it, Noctis would be displeased if Ignis was already raw and oversensitive by the time he climbed into their bed and parted his adviser’s legs. But he does _need_ to be ready, slick to the touch, prepared, and his cock swells to its full length without much effort at all. Shifting on the pillow, he’s almost sure he hears Noct’s laughter when he pulls at his length a few times, stuttering to a stop when precome threatens to stain their clean sheets.

 _Enough_ , he says to himself on his Master’s behalf. _Never more than you’re allowed._

With disdain, he frees his fingers from their work, crawling carefully to the end of the bed where his things await him patiently, silent witnesses to all his best kept secrets. Ignis inhales deeply, skin awash with goosebumps and nipples already taut, taking the vial in hand to coat himself liberally one last time. The plug he holds tip up as he squeezes lube generously in a circle around the point, before leaning onto his thigh and aligning it with his expertly primed hole. Toes curling, he presses it inward little by little, his back arcing involuntarily as the pleasure swells, until with a taxed little exhale it is finally seated in place.

Gratified, Ignis slowly rolls his hips until he’s again upright, tensing around the toy as he tucks loosened strands of hair behind his ear. The natural shift and pitch in his frame as he slides his arms back into the robe are enough coax a few contented moans from his parted lips, even feeling the sumptuous drag of pleasure as he stands, rubbed all the right ways from deep inside. Wrapping the silk about his waist, he ties the robe shut just above the hip bones, deciding finally to tighten the collar by a few notches before crawling back into bed.

He likes to await the King on his side of the bed, draped in his aroma, perhaps even leaving a bit of his own behind if he lingers long enough. If not, that’s quite alright. Ignis finds bliss in the way his shoulders sink into Noct’s pillows and an odd sense of comfort in writhing just enough to keep himself on the edge of desperation, but not enough to go lust mad or be accused of proceeding too far without the command and watchful eye of His Majesty. Such things are for him alone to decide, for therein lies the entire purpose of their play, their acceptance of falling into roles that some might find peculiar but that made all the sense in the world to them. All the sense in a senseless world.

Flushed, aware of his aching cock hidden beneath silk that feels heavy as stone at the moment, Ignis anxiously wrings his hands, suddenly noticing that he hadn’t replaced his ring to its rightful finger after the bath. And just as he stretches across the bed to pluck it from the nightstand where he was in the habit of leaving it, the door to their quarters can be heard opening and closing, the sound of heavy footfalls coming to a halt the moment Ignis is settled back into place.

He lifts his head precipitously, smiling at the tinkling of chain on the King’s mantle.

_“Welcome home, Your Majesty.”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Seems you’ve forgotten your place, Ignis, so let me remind you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> without titansatemysoul, this Noct would certainly have been missing something special, but I hope you all enjoy my take on him as well. my love letter to dom Noctis <3

For a few beats, it’s silent enough to hear him breathe.

Noctis knowingly lets it go on a little too long, the waiting, because he’s drinking in the sight of Ignis at his own pace, gutted for the millionth time at how every curve of his face immediately scorches away all the ache, irritation, and fatigue leftover in Noct’s body due to work. Regardless, he would be a fool to have missed Ignis hastily slipping the ring over his finger and the overly cordial caliber of his smile.

“Forgot something, did you?” Noctis finally asks, tilting his head to one side, sounding playful only to the layman.

Ignis touches his hair with his left hand as if to check his appearance, flashing the ring, feigning calm.

“Only for the bath, Your Grace,” Ignis replies, hushed, gaze cast downward as he bends a little further at the knees, the toes of one foot curling over the other, demure.

Noctis regards him with interest as he walks leisurely around the bed, grabbing the bedpost as he turns the corner, all gestures that beget sounds; stretching leather, sweep of feet, jingling chains. The creak of the post garners Ignis’ attention briefly as he follows Noctis with his eyes drawn in the general area of his waist, subservient. Deferential.

Everything the King requires.

He stops at Ignis’ side, exhaling rather dramatically before cradling the man’s head in his hand, fingers threading through silken tresses. Ignis leans into the touch, expression warming into something like adoration and gratefulness.

“It’s just so strange. Your hair is already dry, my love.”

The smile on his face when he draws his hand away can’t be seen by Ignis, but it can certainly be heard in his voice. Ignis swallows, choking down something impending, probably a need to protest or defend his actions, but to Noct’s pleasure, he obviously thinks better of it.

“I’m, so _sorry—”_

“I can’t have you forgetting about me, Ignis,” Noctis interrupts as he reaches for the bedpost nearest his nightstand, watching with devious interest as his underling visibly tenses at the sound of the chain links jostling the moment Noctis pulls the leash free from its hook.

“Of course, Majesty,” Ignis verbally prostrates himself as Noct tethers leash to collar, holding it loosely so that it dangles directly down the center of his chest. “You _are_ right.”

Something about the tone with which Ignis delivers the sentiment doesn’t sit well with Noctis. The actions and body language are pristine, but his cadence; the words he’s chosen, the means of delivery, it’s clear he’ll require some breaking down before he is ready to receive what Noct ultimately plans to give.

With breaking things in mind, Noctis suddenly snatches him by the jaw a little roughly, Ignis’ eye going wide with surprise as a hurt little gasp escapes him. The line between his brows disappears almost as quickly as it formed, but his latent fear can still be seen through the lust flush in his cheeks. Noctis turns his head in his hand, looking him over, finding not a single flaw when leaning in close to taste the lips he’d been pining for since he left the comfort of his bed that morning. But it’s an exhale Ignis is left with, warm across his mouth and chin as curiosity cuts a smile in Noct’s face.

“Are you trying to _tempt_ me?” he asks after realizing the cologne he can smell on Ignis’ skin is his preferred, something crisp and spiced that always made him smell like he just burst from the sea.

Ignis stammers, a touch anxious, swallowing nervously in the King’s grip. Clearly, Noctis is having the exact effect on him that is desired, though he seems more on edge than usual with each shift of his legs.

“I’d hoped it might please His Majesty,” Ignis says earnestly, his glossy eye finding Noct’s either by accident or intuition, and the inherent sweetness in it almost pierces the veil.

Even so, entrapment is part of the game, and Noctis has learned over time and familiarity that Ignis’ tendency to be too smart for his own good is the easiest way to break him; may very well be his only weakness. What was once a battle of wits has epically morphed over time, beginning when Noctis realized he hadn’t the cunning, and certainly never would, to outdo or outsmart his clever husband who says with his mouth that he wants one thing while his body simply aches for another. Obstinately, his perfectionism pushed the King over the edge time and time again, until it dawned on him that the very same tool used to madden him could serve a dual purpose.

“Do you often try so hard to manipulate your Master?”

Noctis stays close, feeling the right flavor of cruel pulsing in his veins as he runs a thumb possessively over the scar staking claim on Ignis’ bottom lip.

“I would _never_ ,” Ignis is able to whisper before the hand at his chin tightens.

“But you _did_ , didn’t you?” Noctis accuses wolfishly. “Perhaps you think distracting me is a good way to keep me from noticing you don’t wear my ring? Oh, _Ignis…_ ”

Standing, Noctis sucks his teeth, sounding put upon as Ignis squirms in place, perhaps feeling a bit too relieved that he’s been temporarily liberated from such a menacing caress. The mantle is weighty on his frame, unwieldy where he wants to be quick and lithe, giving away his position when he’d prefer the element of surprise. Each strap he unfastens almost lackadaisically, never losing sight of Ignis as he pretends not to notice the sound of each buckle, each strap, each chain. Noctis knows this to be completely false as he sidesteps from the bed to sit the mantle next to his nightstand, returning at once to pause before Ignis, watching him in a purposefully dense silence. He defensively pulls the collar of the robe across his chest, breathing a little heavily, almost whimpering as if he means to speak, but before a word is said Noctis abruptly turns to yank the chain straight downward, forcing Ignis flat on his back in one swift motion. Yelping in surprise, his hands dart up to claw at the collar involuntarily as Noctis kneels over his body, straddling a thigh, slowly lowering his lips near to Ignis’ ear.

“Let go of my collar,” he commands quietly but authoritatively.

He’s swiftly obeyed as Ignis fists the sheets at his side instead, wilting when a terse jerk on the chain causes the collar to constrict about his throat. With his body splayed out, the shape of his glutted cock is visible beneath the black silk of his robe, and Noctis can’t understand how he’s made it this far without touching him. His eyes rove unhindered over the swell of Ignis’ heaving chest, the long lines of his neck broken only by a strip of black leather.

“Seems you’ve forgotten your place, Ignis, so let me remind you.”

“Everything in this room belongs to me. Everything in this room, every _last_ object in this palace, all the way down to the foundation in the ground. Everything.”

His cock twitches, rising tall as if to beg for attention—for even the slightest acknowledgement.

“You belong to me. And _this,”_ Noctis takes it in his hand through the cloth, squeezing once when Ignis chokes on another little gasp. “My most prized possession. I don’t take kindly to other people touching my things without asking. Not even you. Do you understand?”

Noctis doesn’t bother to wait for Ignis to answer before continuing to fondle him with his free hand, pinning his neck taut to the bed using the leash. Obsequiously, Ignis sags, letting it all happen willingly, still trying to vocalize his compliance under the oppressive vise of the collar.

“You’re having trouble, aren’t you?” Noctis says sympathetically, knitting his brow and making a little empathetic noise as he palms harshly at Ignis’ sac. “Here, relax.”

At last, he gives slack to the chain, perking up when Ignis inhales, inflating around a few murmured _ohs_. Noctis fusses with the collar, rotating it so that his family seal would face him, before combing his fingers through Ignis’ hair, petting and consoling.

“Next time, remember how much it hurts me to be forgotten like that, Ignis,” he warns, managing to sound bereft and dangerous at the same time.

The very thought is preposterous, given that it’s blatantly obvious Ignis spent a great deal of time and effort preparing only for Noct’s benefit, but he buckles under the threat in his King’s tone nonetheless, retreating into the deceptively affectionate touch, coddled.

“Yes Master, I will. I _will_ remember.”

Still stroking his hair, Noctis leans forward to press a kiss into the forehead of his steadfast servant, his other hand working dutifully enough to wring a few burdened whines from Ignis’ throat.

“I know you will, Ignis. Now. Be still.”

The chain is abandoned, gathered in a pile as Noctis drops it just above Ignis’ left shoulder. He tilts his head away from the sound, startled, but other than that tiny reaction he falls completely placid as Noct parts his legs a little forcefully, reaching between the folds of the robe with one hand as he hikes it up one of Ignis’ thighs with the other.

Nothing quite compares to the sight of Ignis like this, presented to him like an obscene gift just as the façade begins to crack and fail. He bites his bottom lip as he’s groped, unseeing eye already more bleary than expected, until Noctis flips the robe up, sliding his hand down over the slope of Ignis’ ass, finding a flat, hard surface where he’d expected to find a familiar tightness and heat.

“ _Wow,”_ he exclaims through a devilish grin, rubbing the base of the silver plug buried inside, tossing the remaining flap of the robe up and out of the way with his other hand.

Even the subtle force imparted by his fingertips makes Ignis jolt and clench the silk now gathered at his hips in his idle hands. Noct is sympathetic, but he still catches the touch and simply cannot allow it to go unaddressed.

“Hands above your head. Wrists together,” he barks, and Ignis drapes them dutifully above his head, exhaling loudly as he settles against the pillows.

Noctis can’t help but stroke the gleaming metal almost affectionately, warm with Ignis’ body heat and slick with lubrication, utterly charmed at the gesture and waylaid by the way the slightest pressure has his lover twitching and gasping in surprise.

“ _Good, good boy, Ignis,”_ he coos, affected. “You really do want your Master to fuck you, don’t you?”

 _“Yes,”_ he replies a little too quickly, blush bright all the way down his neck and chest as he nods, imploring.

Those wrists don’t move an inch while Noctis toys with him a moment; toying with the plug and testing Ignis’ resolve, intent on watching each bead of sweat roll down his brow and into his hairline. His own cock is stiff in his slacks, his black dress shirt still stuffed and tucked neatly behind an expensive leather belt and lustrous gold buckle. Aware of the sweat trickling down his own neck, he rears back on his knees, loosening the first few buttons of his shirt before noisily unfastening his belt and pulling it from its loops.

“You may just get what you’re looking for,” he says matter-of-factly, just as the belt falls to the bed with a soft clink from the buckle. Pulling the tails of his shirt free from his trousers, he regards Ignis covetously, deciding whether or not to leave the robe folded up around his frame. “I _do_ like it when you prepare for me. So tell me,” he scoots closer, the tops of his thighs coming into contact with the underside of Ignis’ own, his hands running a greedy path down them until he grasps his hips tightly through the silk. “Are you excited, Ignis?”

“Exceedingly...Your Majesty,” he pants, his bottom lip already chewed a little red and entirely too distracting.

“Good. I’m happy to hear that,” Noctis says with a smile, bending to deposit a few chaste kisses in a line just beneath Ignis’ collar, hands kneading both hip bones.

Lifting his head, his eyes are drawn to the curve of that mouth again and he fails to stifle a little disappointed sound.

“Still, it’s a shame you didn’t gag yourself for me.”

Ignis’ eye goes wide, his brow worrying at the accusation.

“I apologize, Your Grace, I hadn’t the time…”

Noct throws an indignant look, going perfectly still, the hands around Ignis’ waist even relaxing. The beleaguered adviser reacts almost as though he could see the intensity in the stare, inhaling sharply, preparing to launch a virtual cascade of penitence.

Noctis reaches for the leash, deliberately rotating it to the center of the collar before hauling Ignis a few inches from the bed to meet him in the middle, their noses nearly grazing.

_“Please, Mast—”_

“Are you saying my schedule _inconveniences_ you?”

He keeps his tone frighteningly level, which only has Ignis shaking his head to protest even more adamantly, opening his mouth to beg forgiveness.

Too little, too late.

Noctis growls as he rears back onto his haunches again, Ignis following on the end of the leash as it yanks him into a seated position. He yelps in distress, having to throw his hands out to his sides in order to brace himself when Noctis leaps into action, catching Ignis by the jaw with both hands and forcing his thumbs inside a gasping mouth. The chain is wrapped once around Noct’s right hand, cold against Ignis’ jaw, only slightly impeding his thorough mapping of the man’s teeth and tongue.

Ignis mewls; eyes pinched shut as his Master dives further inward, touching with the pads of each thumb as he’s inspected.

“You’ve got a lot to say tonight, don’t you? You really shouldn’t have skipped the gag…I thought it was your favorite?”

Ignis openly sobs around his still probing fingers, sounding despondent. Apologetic.

“It looks like I’ll have to put your mouth to better use.”

Finally, he withdraws and wipes his wet fingers clean on the shoulders of the silk robe, then cradles Ignis’ face in both hands, thumbs tenderly rubbing along the socket just under his eyes. Ignis’ gaze is downturned, lashes long and dark on his unscarred eye, strong lines of his cheekbones and jaw pleasant against Noct’s palm. The lighting in the room has grown warm but dramatic since the sun began to set, casting shadows across his face that accentuate every dip and curve, from the purse in his lips to the slight bump in the bridge of his nose.

“Unzip me, take me out, and _wait,_ ” he commands, dropping both hands to his knees.

A groan catches in his throat as he watches Ignis spring to the work, divesting the King’s cock of his slacks and briefs with fingers that boast both overconfidence and grace. When Noctis falls free of confinement, heavy with arousal, he’s only a hairsbreadth from a pair of patiently waiting lips. Rising up on his knees, he combs his fingers through Ignis’ hair, praising his obedience and patience, lining his cock up with its intended target.

“Since you can’t seem to control your mouth, I’m gonna have to use it how I see fit. You’re not to touch me, and you’re _certainly_ , not to touch yourself.”

“Yes, Master,” he answers.

Noctis fists his hair, pulling until Ignis hovers right where he wants him.

“Open.”

No sooner than Ignis parts his lips does Noctis lean forward to press the head of his cock into their warmth, forcing them open as he pets encouragingly at the hair on the man’s crown. Doubled over, he doesn’t look entirely comfortable, but Noctis isn’t entirely worried about that, especially considering the speed and aptitude with which Ignis is able to take him down, nose promptly buried in his briefs and the bit of dark hair that escapes the little window in them.

Letting go of the base of his own cock, he grabs the leash, winding it round his hand and pulling it taut as he continues to guide Ignis’ head with the other.

“Aahh, Ignis…this is _exactly_ what your mouth was made for,” Noctis exhales hard, a bit like a machine expelling steam, his eyes going lidded as the first controlled thrusts into Ignis’ throat jostle him in his place.

He moans audibly around the cock buried inside him, likely reacting to the shift and press of the plug now that he’s forced to sit up. Noctis grits his teeth, the reverberation on his shaft and the throttled sound itself threatening to make him lightheaded as he snaps his hips a little harder in warning.

“I know how much you like taking cock, but don’t you _dare_ come,” he cautions through ever laboring breaths, splaying his fingers apart, palm flat on the back of Ignis’ head, communicating with due clarity that his pleasure belongs to his King alone.

The lust haze is thick between them, too intense too quickly, and though the velvety suction in Ignis’ throat is an utterly unrivaled thing, Noctis eventually wrenches him by the hair from the length of his cock. Limp in his grip, his servant gasps for air, sounding and looking every bit relieved to find it filling his lungs with each tattered inhale from between swollen lips fucked red and slick.

“Enough,” Noctis snarls, tilting Ignis’ head back until his neck is bared and his milky eye is turned toward the sky. Leaning forward, he devours every oppressed little moan that escapes his mouth, dropping the leash entirely to plant a hand heavy in the curve of his neck.

The kiss is a violent thing of teeth and tongue and guttural vocalizations on the part of the King, as Ignis is still too caught up in orienting himself to be anything other than a tool to be used.

_“Ah, ah, ngh…hmph—”_

Ignis endears himself expertly to Noctis using these vulnerable sounds of struggle. The tears that well up and stain the corners of his eyes don’t hurt, either.

Growing impatient, in need of a come down, Noctis uses both hands to toss him onto his back on the bed, amused when he again connects his wrists above his head.

“Don’t bother, you’ll be using them.”

Ignis appears confused for a beat, but cautiously rests his hands across his belly, one above the other. The robe has shifted enough that he’s mostly covered, dismaying Noctis even further.

“Untie the robe for me and lay it open so I can see you,” he orders with a bit less edge to his tone, backing away from Ignis enough to sit, one knee bent in front of him. He’s still fully dressed, expensive dress shoes catching the bit of remaining light, shined to high heaven. Had the circumstances been different, Ignis would have his head for wearing them in their sheets like some manner of savage.

But the circumstances are thus, and Ignis barely has to move his hands to get those slender fingers around the sash at his waist, deftly unwinding it and peeling the robe open, dropping it at his sides. His knees are only about shoulders width apart, leaving too much of his body cast in shadow for Noctis’ taste.

“Spread your legs,” he says abruptly, sounding agitated as he sticks the toe of his shoe between Ignis’ parting legs, pressing it against his thigh and forcing him further open for appraisal. “Good, let me see what’s mine.”

Fortuitously, Noctis spies the lube on the bedside not far from where he sits; waiting faithfully where Ignis last left it atop the velvet pouch. He recognizes it as home to the custom made toy now stretching his favorite plaything wide. Suddenly, he knows exactly how the rest of the evening will go.

“You’re beautiful like this, Ignis,” he flatters, reveling in how deeply it touches Ignis and makes him squirm in place, especially once he digs the shoe a little cruelly into his thigh once more.

 _“Ah!_ Th-thank you, Majesty…”

“Maybe I should make you stay like this whenever you’re in quarters with me. How would you like that? You’d like that, wouldn’t you Ignis? _My Ignis,”_ Noct’s voice drips saccharine sweet from his lips before he lifts the toe at Ignis’ thigh to slide it lower and inward, nudging the base of the plug with a cunning smile at play on his lips.

 _“Ngh! Ah!_ _Anything!”_ Ignis yowls, cock flexing and audibly slapping against his belly. “Anything…His Majesty…wishes…”

Noctis feels his smile may become permanent.

“Good, you really are _so_ _good_ to your Master, Iggy, you always find a way to impress me.”

Ignis reddens at all the praise, like he always does, wearing the grin that surfaces as well as he’d wear any of his toys or trinkets.

“It is my sole desire to serve the needs of my King,” he hums in a lilt that leads Noctis to believe he’s _almost_ ready. Almost.

“Right now, what I’d really like is to see your fingers wrapped around your own pretty cock.”

Without a lull, Ignis curls his limber fingers about his length and waits, bless him, for his next command.

“Sit up so I can see you better.”

He props himself on his elbow, hair hanging in a halo around his forehead, the robe slipping from his shoulders. The sight of him is a feast for the eyes and Noctis is fast losing the ability to focus.

“I’m going to sit here and watch as you touch yourself for me, but you are _not_ to finish. Your pleasure is _mine.”_

“Of course, Majesty,” Ignis responds duteously, stroking a little hesitantly until Noctis toes at the base of the plug again.

Then, the world seems to shift on its axis as Ignis comes to terms with how his need has crested since the moment he stepped out of the bath. Similarly, Noctis can’t deny that he needs the slick and the heat returned to his aching cock soon. His mouth goes dry as he watches Ignis’ hips begin to pitch and sway against his own pumping fist and the pressure of the toy each time Noctis wriggles it with his foot. Ignis is probably dangerously near coming, his cock so full that it’s a dark shade against his white knuckling hand, but the need to keep looking is agonizingly real.

As quietly as he can manage under duress, Noctis stretches for the vial of lubricant, pushing the ball of his foot flat into the underside of the plug to send Ignis into an almost stupefied frenzy of near curses. It’s more than enough to occupy his preternatural hearing as Noct pulls himself from his sagging pants and coats his own cock, enjoying a few warm pulls at his own fraying edges.

“ _Don’t_. Come.”

The command is looking less and less possible to abide by, in all fairness to Ignis, who pants and struggles openly now, throwing his head back to moan, then leaning forward with bared teeth, clearly trying to stave off what will most certainly come when it’s damn good and ready.  Even Noctis accidentally lets a sound escape before unhanding himself, wiping excess lube on his shirt.

“I don’t think you’re going to make it,” he teases as he hauls himself from his seated position to crawl between his lover’s legs, planting his left hand on the bed beside Ignis’ hip so he can address the plug with his right. “Are you?”

Ignis doesn’t answer, doesn’t seem able, poor thing, but he senses Noctis near and tries to find him with his eye, as if the acknowledgement can simply serve as his response. Despite himself, Noctis smiles; twisting the toy, pressing his palm flat against it, holding it flush against Ignis’ ass.

“It’s alright, my love,” Noctis murmurs, kissing his jaw, nipping at his neck when he turns to accommodate the affection. He wraps his own fingers about Ignis’ erratically pumping fist, squeezing tighter. “I’ll let you come first if you need it.”

That endorsement proves a clarion call to Ignis’ pleasure, for the moment Noctis eases the plug out of his clenching hole, little by little, Ignis withers with a healthy sigh, coming hard in their hands and dripping messily on his belly. Boneless, he won’t answer to anymore commands, so Noctis throws his tired arms about his neck, receiving just a little dig of nails as he enters his perfectly stretched body completely. Ignis whines with a pitch so rare that Noctis knows precisely what it means and why it has surfaced, but he’s all too obliged to disregard it, folding Ignis nearly in half to fuck him far past his orgasm.

“You’re done, when I _say_ you’re done,” Noctis growls, biting his collarbone and tearing out another high pitched cry.

Ignis isn’t complacent and malleable anymore, he’s clawing into the King’s shoulders, his sobs piercing through the air and toes curling, the frenzy in his voice caused solely by overstimulation.

_“Ah, ah,ah!”_

A sound comes with each pitch of his body against the mattress as Noctis meets stroke after stroke, the torrid vise enveloping his cock his only concern.

_“Please, please, ah!”_

Face still buried in his neck, Noctis can feel Ignis’ knees tighten at his sides, but he is almost there, just a few more cries and even he doesn’t stand a chance.

 _“Ignis,”_ he says into his ear, nice and low and gravelly, the thread of danger resurfacing in his voice the closer he comes to euphoria. “Now that you’re finally on my cock, you’re moaning like a _whore,”_ he surges forward hard and holds, grunting when fingers dig even further into his shoulders. “Are you, Ignis? _Are you my whore?”_

Ignis bays like a wounded animal, arms suddenly locking so tightly around Noct’s neck that he chokes, struggling to mete out his last few thrusts with his compromised mobility.

_“Yesss.”_

Again, Noctis nearly chokes, the unexpected admission wrenching his cock clean of orgasm almost instantly.

 _“Fuck, Ignis, fuck,”_ he snarls predatorily, coming messily as he snaps his hips until he’s wrung completely dry.

Ignis’ arms slide from Noct’s shoulders, flopping lifelessly at his sides as Noctis slips out of his body before he softens, wiping come from them both with the flaps of the robe.

“Noct,” Ignis objects breathlessly, already disgusted. Already back to basics.

“Hush. I’ll buy you another one.”

Lifting one of his legs, he turns him gently to crawl to his side, reaching for the leash and collar to free Ignis from them. The collar left a somewhat angry red mark slithering around the column of his throat to be remembered by, no more unsightly than the bite marks Noctis left behind in the final seconds of his throes.

Ignis reaches out to him, to touch his face, open palm guided at the wrist with Noct’s help. He looks debauched, yes, but happy. Unburdened in a way only Noctis gets to enjoy. Of all the claims of ownership and mastery on all the nights they’ve enjoyed such fancy, this is truly the one thing he can rightfully call his own.

“You’ve quite the mouth on you,” Ignis teases, receiving a kiss to his thumb when he glides it over Noct’s lips.

“And I know how to use it,” he retorts, pulling the hand from his face to his chest.

Ignis is smiling, bathed mostly in shadow now that the night has nearly fallen. Ignis is smiling, and for the moment there is no strife, no pain of trauma or memory of it hanging dense over their heads. There’s only the two of them, and their bed, and how they choose to use it.

“Just make sure it’s never heard outside these walls,” Ignis reminds him, as if he has to.

Noctis laughs, standing to retreat to the bathroom and run the piping hot water for their customary post coital bath.

“I’m pretty sure _you’re_ the one everybody’s heard.”

Ignis flushes again as he sits up, sucking his teeth in rehearsed annoyance, lifting his foot in surprise when the plug rolls into his ankle.

“Would you just draw me a bath?”

Noctis is already a few steps away but he turns to address his husband a final time, one corner of his lip quirking in a half smile at the beautiful, almost comically disheveled creature in his bed.

“I’d love nothing more."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I hope I did him justice!)
> 
> <333

**Author's Note:**

> if the impromptu sub Ignis was enjoyable, I may add a deliberate dom Noctis chapter :D


End file.
